


Silver Bells

by LadyMaeve1978



Series: Johnlock for the Holidays [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, One Shot Collection, non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27899947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMaeve1978/pseuds/LadyMaeve1978
Summary: Johnlock for the holidays! This is the first of (hopefully) several works, inspired by Johnlock and Christmas songs. This is non-canon work, so please be kind.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Johnlock for the Holidays [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2043025
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Silver Bells

_Silver bells, silver bells  
It's Christmas time in the city  
Ring-a-ling, (ring-a-ling) hear them ring (ting-a-ling)  
Soon it will be Christmas day_

_City sidewalks, busy sidewalks  
Dressed in holiday style  
In the air there's a feeling of Christmas  
Children laughing, people passing  
Meeting smile after smile  
And on every street corner you hear_

_Silver bells, (silver bells) silver bells (silver bells)  
It's Christmas time in the city  
Ring-a-ling, (ring-a-ling)  
Hear them ring, (hear them ring)  
Soon it will be Christmas day_

It was a few weeks until Christmas and John had decided this year that he would actually have his shopping done before Christmas Eve for a change. Since he had been pulled into Sherlock’s orbit all those years ago, nothing has been normal or even on a schedule. It was all good, though….the excitement of not knowing what was going to happen next was exhilarating. He felt, for the first time in his life, truly alive and it was all due to the madman with the silver eyes. All it took was an arch of the eyebrow, a swirl of a coat and John felt as though he could fly.

He hit up Harrods first, of course….an afternoon of shopping while Sherlock was over at Bart’s with Molly allowed him to knock out most of his list. It felt like at least a good portion of London had the same idea…the aisle were full with people shopping while children ran back and forth, marveling at the displays. A bath set for Mrs Hudson, a decanter of whiskey for Lestrade, perfume for Molly…he was even able to pick up extra boxes of biscuits and chocolates that he could hand out to the children the next time he did his clinics in the poorer sections of London. 

Sherlock, however, was a far more difficult gift to master. Sherlock had given him his life back – how can you wrap that up in a gift? And without giving away an increasingly uncomfortable realization? When did Sherlock become so important to him?

He picked up a scarf and gloves for Sherlock, because he was constantly losing his during the course of the Work…or was sacrificed on the alter of Experiments. But the gifts felt…lacking….

He continued to wander the department store, but nothing grabbed his attention. Everything he saw, he knew his roommate would sneer at as “Boring!”. John wasn’t sure whether he could handle Sherlock’s disdain over a poorly chosen gift, so he left the store and went out into the streets.

Dusk was starting to fall and the Christmas lights that had been strung up overhead began to flicker on in the growing gloom. A few snow flakes began to fall and John stopped dead on the sidewalk, head thrown back to marvel at the sight. He took in a deep breath of the cold air and continued on his quest for the perfect gift for his friend.

He walked down the street, peeking at the displays as he went along. Occasionally, he stepped into a store, only to come out disappointed. John made a vow that he would not go home until he found the perfect gift.

His feet took him further and further away from the main roads and now he was seeing little unique boutiques nestled in between the larger named stores. John’s eyes fell upon a rather ordinary storefront, nestled between a Starbucks and a tailor’s shop. “Macabre Visions” was stenciled in silver on the small black sign in the window.

With a shrug, John let himself into the shop. A bell tinkled overhead as a blast of warm air hit his chilled face. He stopped in the door, taking in the interior of the little shop. Wrought iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling, but instead of the normal iron work one would see in such pieces, the arms looked like little bones had been fused together, with the light bulbs being held out by skeletal hands. Everywhere he looked, death had been stylized and turned into works of art. Chairs, lamps, tapestries, end tables – it was almost too much to take in at once. A young lady, dressed in a black and grey Victorian mourning dress, stood behind a scarred wooden table. In front of her laid pieces of silver, gold and black stones….onyx and obsidian he recognized immediately, but the others he couldn’t recall. As he watched, she picked up a piece of onxy and began etching into it with a small tool.

“Can I help you?” the young lady said, not looking up from her work.

“Umm…just looking, thanks.” he said, but drew closer to watch her as she worked. With a sign, she set down her stone and tool.

“Looking for what, exactly? Our busiest time of the year is around Halloween; I don’t get many browsers in here that aren’t already repeat customers.” She said, then came out from behind the table. To John’s surprise, even her boots matched her gown.

“I’m looking for a gift for my….flat mate.” John stuttered, then flushed under the girl’s knowing gaze.

“What is their style? Grunge? Steampunk? Victorian?” she inquired.

“Umm…” John’s brain stuttered at the thought of Sherlock in the various styles suggested by the girl. “He’s….elegant in his dress – high end stuff, you know? But our flat is a mix of Victorian, mad scientist’s lab…and morgue?”

“Hmm…does he wear ties? Or cufflinks?” she inquired, leading John over to a display on the far end of the room.

“Not much in the way of ties, unless it’s something formal….but some of his fancy dress shirts do take cufflinks.” John muttered, looking down at the pieces nestled in the display. As he scanned over the items, his eyes came to rest on a set of cufflinks. At first glance, he thought they were just round black onyx stones set in a silver base, but as he examined them closer, he realized that the onyx had been carved into perfect skulls. It brought to mind the skull sitting on the mantel in their flat and he smiled at the thought.

“Ah…I see that something has spoken to you.” she smiled and then reached in to pull out the cuff links.

They screamed ‘Sherlock’, but John’s heart stuttered at the price tag attached to the box.

“These are all hand crafted – each set is unique. Subtle, unless you take a closer look. Perfect for formal settings.” she murmured, turning the skulls under the warm lighting of the shop.

Before John knew it, he was standing out on the sidewalk, the box with the cufflinks nestled in his inner pocket. It had cost far more than he had planned on, but he knew that if he had walked out of the shop that night without them, he would have always regretted it.

Still ladened down with his purchases from Harrods, he made his way to the tube. The snow had kept coming down while he was in the shop and enough had now fallen to crunch under his feet as he was jostled along by the other shoppers.

Eventually, he made it back to 221B Baker Street. After closing the front door against the swirling snow, he called out a greeting to Mrs. Hudson as he made his way up the 17 steps to their flat. John leaned against the door, hands full of bags, trying to keep from dropping anything while he pulled out his keys. He finally got the key in the lock and turned in, nearly falling on his face as the door swung inward.

The lights were all on and Sherlock was sitting in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. John huffed in exasperation and began to lug his bags towards the stairs leading to his bedroom.

“John….I’ll take the gloves now. I seemed to have left my at Barts.” Sherlock didn’t even glance at him, still focused on the opposite wall.

“Git – those are supposed to be a Christmas gift!” John growled but dug out the gloves as instructed. He then threw them at Sherlock, who reached up and caught them out of the air as they sailed past his head.

Sherlock sniffed the air. “You do realize that you gave that same bath set to Mrs. Hudson last Christmas? Although Lestrade will appreciate the whiskey, the perfume is too strong for Molly.”

“Molly gave me a list of things she wanted for Christmas after your ‘gifts’ last year and the perfume was on it.” John sighed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and returned to his previous position.

“Leave the chocolates down here – your bedroom is too warm for them” Sherlock said at John’s retreating back. John ignored him and continued up the stairs and into his bedroom. With a growl, he realized that Sherlock was right about the chocolates. He left the bags by the door and placed his other purchases at the bottom of his wardrobe.

He then reached into his pocket and pulled out the cufflinks. John paused, listening to the sounds of the flat. Sherlock had apparently moved on to his violin, the silvery tones filling the air. He then dropped to his knees besides his bed and began pulling up the floorboards under the head of the bed. He noted the location of the strongbox in the space and saw that it hadn’t been disturbed. Good.

He pulled out the box and unlocked it with the key he kept around his neck. Inside, he kept his backup handgun, a slowing growing stack of cash and copies of his personal documents. A handful of pictures completed the contents of the lockbox. He placed the cufflinks in the box, then returned everything back to where it belonged. With a smile, he straightened his jumper and left the room.


End file.
